


everyone wants to see Karkat raped

by with_a_kiss



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Imagined Violence, Imagined noncon, Multi, Past Child Abuse, the objective observer would find that nothing happens here at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:47:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3865732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/with_a_kiss/pseuds/with_a_kiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four vignettes, one theme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rose

**Author's Note:**

> I offered to do a reverse prompt thread for Karkat noncon [here on the kink meme](http://homesmut.dreamwidth.org/39716.html?thread=46203684#cmt46203684), but so far I haven't filled any except this one, dedicated to the anon who commented that "It seems everyone wants to see Karkat raped." 
> 
> So it does.

Karkat Vantas is yelling about toast - about 'human fry bread squares' - but he's really saying the only thing he ever really says:

OBSERVE MY LOUDNESS LEVEL (and assume my dangerousness level is the same). RESPECT MY AUTHORITY OR ELSE (everyone will know i have nothing. am nothing). DON'T EVEN FUCKING TRY ME (please. please god, don't try me).

Karkat's existence as an interpretive ballet on the theme of overcompensation, and as you watch him wave a piece of toast through fourth position, jam splattering the wall, you think again that the troll race must have been lying to itself.

Trolls are - to hear them brag about it - merciless and insatiable death bringers. But Karkat was their uncontested leader, and everything about him screams vulnerability. His aggression is a glove tailored to the shape of his anxiety, and terror never fully leaves his eyes. To meet his gaze is to share his awareness of how easily the little worth he's earned could be taken from him.

Humanity was the apex predator of its world. Whatever the trolls see, there's a part of you to which it's a blatant invitation. A hunger in your chest.

You know exactly how it'd go. Possibilities branch from the present moment - where Karkat's throwing an uncooked bread chunk that somehow offended him. If you stood up and grabbed him, he'd be on the table before he realized he was under attack.

He's mortal and exhausted, and you are neither. You're strong enough to keep him down. He wouldn't even struggle until you reached under his clothes.

And after that, you know exactly what to say to keep him pliant, to give him a narrative rope to pull himself though: "You handed me your leadership, and this is what it means."

Or you could break him entirely - remind of his failures, assure him every piece of his body you claim is _vile_. Take out your Thorn and wrap it in his palm. "Is this wrong? Then stop me. Cut me open, and let paradox space decree it just." You'd be entirely safe, and you know exactly the expression he would make as you force him inside you, the relaxation of his jaw as he shatters. How he'd lie on the floor hours after you've finished with him, cold and sticky and lost. But finally quiet.

You know with the same certainty you know there will be a new session waiting to take you.

Karkat notices you staring and scowls, baring his teeth and dropping his horns. You think of the threat display of a mouse Jasper once trapped in a corner to play with.

Across the table, the troll Seer of Mind watches you with eyes like burning coal.

You excuse yourself.


	2. Gamzee

There's no day on this rock, no sun green or red to up and roast a troll what finds himself unwary. But here's your hatchbrethren all soaked and hidden in poison slime, like they think they know what it is they need to get their hiding on of.

Not you, NOT MOTHERFUCKING YOU. You rest clean and dry with your other best friends. The ones who already got the understanding of the way things are to be.

But you ain't jealous of sharing the harsh word with them that needs to hear it. You send your whimsy for the teal blooded bitch, creep your way into her pan. Sopor will rot a motherfucker's mind inside to out, but it'll work outside to in just the same, rust you a way into her thoughts more quietly than the smashing of club through skull.

You find her wells of NOT GOOD ENOUGH and A JOKE TO YOUR ANCESTOR'S LEGACY and paint their colors thick across her self. The unconscious shape of her turns, sensing a wrongness, but she doesn't sight you.

SHE'S MOTHERFUCKING BLIND, REMEMBER?

Outwards, a dayterror echo calls to you. Karkat's walking the border of awareness and slumber, and memories of old dreams blow themselves soapbubble fragile from his heart. You climb yourself up into one before it pops, lend it the power to hold while you explore.

You're in one of your mutant brother's old fantasies. He's survived to adulthood, comedy enough, and he's wearing the sigil of the Empress's Grand Threshecutioner. He's lecturing an ill defined army with ill defined words, all victory and strength and motherfucking pride.

He doesn't notice you, and you watch as the fantasy molders. His secret slips its cage - his eyes fill with red swill, the sign on his chest bleeds truth from silver.

His legion turns on him, and terror floods him thick as would up and burst him open.

No bland hued anxiety, is your palebro's fear of discovery. He's spent all his sweeps painting it into a masterpiece of glory. A gift of miracles for your own motherfucking self.

His soldiers, those featureless shadow people, tear away his rank and his sign. They rip his skin in their fury. Force open his thighs, and they can't hurt him none, these dream shades, but it's not his pain you care to feel. When he screams, it's the FEAR of pain twisting up his insides.

There's no voice but his in this dream, but Karkat hears them in his pan just the same. This is their justice for his pretending. All what he deserves for tricking them into accepting him.

The punchline to the joke of his hatching.

But even with you to lay down fuel, his terror eventually fades into some cold and small emotion, a thing without much interest to what’s up and singing in your heart.

You slip out, leave him to finish his dream. Maybe you'll see what the humans are getting themselves on with.


	3. Dave

You punch and Karkat ducks and you jab and Karkat hooks your sword with the curve of his blade and yeah, it's come to this.

Look, you've got a deranged devildog and skull faced universe breaker waiting for you at the end of this three year hockeyball serve, and now that your Bro's not around to leap smuppet-ass first from the ceiling whenever you blink too lazily, you've gotta keep up your reflexes somehow. Terezi's been off doing fuck knows with you don't want to think about who, which leaves you Loudtroll McShoutsalot for a sparring partner.

Rose volunteered herself for your purposes, but you'd rather not throw down with your sister. Shit always gets weird.

Not that Karkat couldn't use the skill check either. He tries to twist your sword from your hand, and you easily kick out his knee. You go down sprawling, Karkat beneath you, and both blades are knocked out of reach.

Air is forced from him in a, "Fuuuuuuu...."

You freeze, body stiff and heart racing, and it takes you ten seconds to figure out why deja-vu's tying your stomach into shibari knots. You're not fucking around with time stuff anymore - all your loops should be closed.

It's that you've ended a fight like this before. You were younger, and you weren't the one with the upper hand, but you remember the rattle of swords on the concrete roof, the rush of air and thud of bodies hitting ground... Except it was Bro kicking out _your_ knee, and Bro knocking the breath from _your_ chest, the sudden void like rabid parakeets nesting in your lungs.

The weight of Bro's body held you down; he had to rock his hips when you squirmed. You felt his dick poking into your thigh, but that happens sometimes, it's normal, unavoidable if you've got a penis and a circulatory system and biology never stops pulling the puppet strings, it doesn't mean anything.

In fact, your own one eyed salami snake is waking up to check out your situation, and it's just Karkat underneath you, struggling to push you away. He's not much smaller than you, but he's built differently. His joints don't bend the right way to shove you off.

He's not getting up until you decide to let him.

On the roof, Bro had put his palm on the high edge of your thigh and pushed himself to his feet. That's all that happened. That's all that _ever happens_ , and if it sometimes goes different when you think about it in the privacy of later, that's on you. On your own fucked up perversions.

Karkat suddenly stops fighting. "Uncle!"

"Huh?"

"You and my ancestor suckled from the same grotesque mammal teat!" he says. "I give up, okay? Now get your unnecessarily bulbous ass off of me already, this is making me uncomfortable."

You don't react right away. Your magic red pants are snug over your dick, and one of your legs is already between his thighs: holding him down, holding him open. You'd just be pressing your victory, and trolls... trolls are used to that, aren't they? You wouldn't have to give up control.

And you _are_ the one in control here; he's completely at your mercy.

You shudder, shake your head, and jump to your feet.

"See dude this is what I'm talking about. You're always reading way too much into shit that doesn't mean anything."


	4. Kanaya

You hear the faint, familiar sound of sniffling behind the doorway of a less used common block, and you pause instead of entering. There is no mystery about what you'll find.

Karkat will be staring at his portable computing device while appearing moderately distraught. When you walk in, he'll be startled - despite rainbow drinker quietness continuing to not be a real thing. The computer will be hurriedly stashed in his sylladex; however, it won’t vanish before you glimpse mingling lines of grey and purple text.

Karkat will drag a sleeve across his eyes. You won't ask him if he's doing all right, and he'll skirt the hand you carelessly offer before you’ve considered the implications. Then he'll escape from your presence, his footsteps echoing down the hallway behind you.

You and Karkat perform this feat of choreography approximately once a perigee; although less often lately, as he becomes more conscientious about holding private conversations in _private_.

Perhaps this time will be different, and your intrusion will be welcome. You don't hear anyone else, but where you swish and stomp, Gamzee succeeds in moving silently. And while you don't mean to slight Karkat's conciliatory qualifications, Gamzee _will_ rampage again. You've been expecting it since your group began its journey and the clown remained alive.

It’s possible that when you open the door, you will find him bent over Karkat: one long knuckled hand is slapped over Karkat's mouth to force his silence - allowing him no report beyond an occasional muffled sniffle - and poorly maintained nails stab into Karkat's cheek in the parody of a caress. Alarmingly red blood drips down, mixing with the pinkish tears running over Karkat's face.

Gamzee thrusts against Karkat's body. His other hand lifts and continually repositions Karkat's hips to accommodate himself, as though Karkat is no more than a lifeless puppet. Karkat is limp and barely moving, but you can see that he fought back. He’s covered in defensive wounds, and his limbs lie at angles that are normally precluded by an intact skeleton.

Gamzee chuckles deeply and, without ceasing, turns his head to grin at you.

Your chainsaw is already in your fist. You swing up, and Gamzee falls away in two messy purple halves. His blood floods over Karkat's legs in place of his climax.

You rush to Karkat's side but, not realizing the nightmare is over, he flinches when you reach for him. He's forgotten what it is to be touched with kindness. You croon to him: "He's gone. I won’t hurt you."

Karkat gasps, taking in a shuddering breath, and his eyes finally move to your face. He says your name, once. When he starts sobbing, you hold him to your torso, and he clutches at you, burying his face wetly under your neck.

His breath is warm and fast. His bloodpusher pounds sweet liquid through his broken body, and you're overwhelmed with how fragile he is compared to you. His vulnerability _aches_ within your chest like you’ve swallowed the weakest, greatest part of him: the brave and fleeting brightness of his soul.

You’ll wrap him in your arms as though you could really hide him inside yourself. You’ll kiss spilled blood, red and purple, from his forehead. "You're safe for now," you will promise, "now that I have you. I'll protect you. I'll make you better again."

When the doorway to the common block opens, you twitch in surprise.

"Oh, hi Kanaya," Karkat says. He considers your expression with wet-rimmed eyes. "Uh, are you all ri--?"

"I'm fine," you say, interrupting before you have to listen to him finish the question.

He reaches a hand towards you; you avoid it neatly as you walk by.


End file.
